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“Do you think we can talk about your mom, Katsuki?” Dr. Arino asked one session, his tone careful and curious.
Over the months, realizations had come out between Katsuki and his therapist, realizations he would rather take to his grave over discussing them outside the walls of the room in which they first came out. But there was one topic the two had been circling around, dancing from the edges and never touching more than a comment or two.
Katsuki pulled his legs up. He had gotten better about stopping his quirk from activating when he was truly nervous, now that he was in UA - the judge had said a month before the school year began that he could go to the school if he continued his therapy sessions as it was proving to actually help.
He nodded silently, picking at his fingernails as his eyes wandered the room, refusing to look at the door or the doctor. Talking about the Hag was… difficult if he imagined her waiting out in the waiting room, or if he looked at another person, because they often knew her too and would never believe him.
“Do you two have things in common? Hobbies, interests, stuff like that,” Arino started, scratching the pen to his notebook.
Katsuki thought about it for a bit. Cooking was a thing he and his dad did together. Hero card collecting was something he and Izuku did when they were little, and he guessed his Hag of a mother was the one to buy most of the cards given her lucrative job.
“We like… yelling at one another?” He guessed aloud, pulling his legs closer to his chest. “She likes to point out my flaws, so I give it back.”
Dr. Arino made a soft noise. “You’ve never had a positive memory of your mother with you? Just the two of you, not with your dad present.”
Katsuki just looked at his hands, a thin, mostly faded scar along the back of his hand bringing back a memory.
“We got along when washing the dishes, I guess,” he said, his voice softer than he meant it to be. “Most of the time, any-fucking-way.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“She would wash and I’d dry. It was… One of the only times we aren’t at each other’s throats for stupid-ass shit,” he picked at the faded scar. “But that stopped when I was thirteen.”
“What happened when you were thirteen?” Arino gently pushed him forward, and in the environment where Katsuki felt really, really seen, he allowed himself to be nudged into answering honestly.
He was drying the dishes, complaining about Deku seemingly copying his hero appreciation project, when his mom stopped her washing.
“Do you know how hard it is for that boy?” She demanded.
“Why should I care about a quirkless extra?” He spat back, without thinking.
“You’re a rude little fucker,” she muttered, loud enough to be heard by her son, and he puffed his chest.
“And who made me that way, huh!?” He retorted, slamming the dried plate into its correct place. “Look who raised me.”
“I did no such fucking thing!” His mom shouted, and he saw her whirling on him.
Before he could think, he had already instinctively put his arms up to deflect the attack. This time, however, it hadn’t been with a soapy, wet hand. It was harder, fine ceramic that shatter upon contact with his arms and head, cutting into his hands and a small nick in his scalp.
The two stood, both having gone ghostly white as one bled sluggishly, and the other held the remains of a cup in shock.
“... We stopped washing dishes together after that,” Katsuki finished, rubbing a thumb over the fading scar. “Dad would do it with her, so I did most of the cooking after that, since Dad shouldn’t have to do both every fucking day.”
Arino was silent, outside of the scribbling of his pen in his notebook. Katsuki wondered what he was writing down.
A pregnant silence grew between the two of them, the words hanging like a heavy weight, but Katsuki felt lighter. Not a whole lot, but his shoulders no longer felt as tense.
“Was she… often violent with you?” Arino finally asked, and Katsuki couldn’t stop the laugh that came from deep within. Loud, sardonic. Pained.
“Not to the point of scarring me physically. But who’s mother isn’t fucking strict like that?”
Dr. Arino opened his mouth, but couldn’t find the words, and shut it again, writing more things down in the notebook.
“She thinks being physical is the only way to remember a lesson,” Katsuki continued. “Yelling doesn’t work, fucking obvious, right? So she smacks me around until I finally get her to stop, or Dad breaks in between us. Not that he fucking needs to, I’m strong enough to take it.”
“I… don’t think that’s the best mindset,” Arino said, his brows scrunched up and he was frowning down at his papers. “Being strong and taking abuse are not the same thing in this situation, Katsuki.”
The words stayed long after the session ended.